Unraveling You
by moonyandpadfoot07
Summary: Alternate universe-Harry sees Malfoy as his childhood nemesis, nothing more. But Harry starts wondering why the obnoxious, arrogant Malfoy suddenly becomes lonely and quiet... almost like a different person now. Not that Harry cared about him or anything.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Harry left school in a hurry. He was sure Ron and Hermione understood when he didn't turn up to say goodbye after school because he feared if he came in late he'd leave a bad impression on his first day at work, and that wasn't exactly what he wanted to happen. He had been talking about this job for weeks now, and Harry couldn't be happier when Mr. Hagrid, the café manager, called him yesterday to say that he got the job. Finally he would have a few more hours away from that bloody house, and he wouldn't have to put up with Aunt Petunia's shrill voice every time she told him to do house chores. It wasn't his favorite thing to do in the world, especially when Uncle Vernon was around because he always complained about Harry's hair, how it looked like a bird's nest and how badly it needed to be cut, _shaved_ even. Harry liked the way it looked on his head because it covered that ugly lightning shaped scar on his forehead which was another reason that Dudley made fun of him when they were younger. Now Dudley cared less about how Harry looked like and did more of physical blows than verbal ones. Not that he wasn't already Dudley's punching bag when they were twelve. That good-for-nothing cousin of him beat the shit out of him every time Harry called him a 'pig' or anything close. He didn't look like it but Harry was a fast runner so whenever he tried to fight back Dudley he just ran, and his obese cousin would run out of breath trying to catch him and give up in the end.

"Harry, you seriously need to move out of that house. Why wouldn't they let you?" Hermione frowned as she stuck a fork in a piece of meat at lunch that day. Ron munched on his corn beef sandwich that he swore he hated, but Mrs. Weasley kept making him. Harry asked once if Ron had already told his mum that, but he shook his head saying he would just scold her.

"I am going to move out once I have the money to rent my own flat." Said Harry. "And as for why they wouldn't let me I don't know. In my opinion, life would be easier if we aren't all living under the same roof."

Today he sat somewhere in the middle of a bus on his way to work. The café was twenty minutes away from school, and it's already 2:43. He exactly has seventeen minutes from starting his job as a barista, and he's quite ecstatic about it. Harry always wanted to work at a café because he loved the smell of coffee, and it reminded him of mornings even if his wasn't so pleasant all the time.

"Ya got it all, Harry? Luna is here to help out if ya need somethin,' right Luna?" Mr. Hagrid beamed at the two of them. He was a beefy man with a bushy beard and size twice as a normal man, and heavens he's even bigger than Uncle Vernon. In contrast to his uncle, Harry didn't find Mr. Hagrid intimidating. He's nice and warm, and Harry thought he could switch the café manager for Uncle Vernon to be his relative. It wasn't the first time they met but Harry found himself in surprise whenever he looked at him because Mr. Hagrid could easily squish him with his fist and he'd be crushed to death. He was exaggerating, Harry thought and shook off the idea of dying at the tender age of eighteen inside a café on his first day at work.

"Merlin's beard, I've got a wild imagination." Harry muttered under his breath.

Mr. Hagrid's eyebrows rose. "M'sorry?"

"Nothing, I…thank you, Mr. Hagrid." Harry smiled. He just finished orienting Harry of how things work around the café. It took about thirty minutes for Harry to familiarize himself with all the buttons and keys in the cash register, the menu, and the place itself. There weren't a lot of people today as Hagrid was saying, and most of the time the place was jammed-pack. Right now Harry could see a group of students cozied up in a space at the left side and a couple of giggling women seated on one of the couches. He could see the different angles of the café on the monitor in front of him, and figured there were four hidden cameras in the shop.

"Nah, drop the 'mister.' Mah whole name's Rubeus Hagrid, but yah can call meh 'Hagrid'or 'Rubeus'…" He trailed off and looked into the distance like he was trying to ponder for a moment. "I prefer 'Hagrid,' actually. Just call meh 'Hagrid.'"

Harry nodded. "Okay, Hagrid." A crooked smile crept out of his lips. Luna bobbed her head gently to the left as she examined his face and noticed how oddly beautiful Harry's eyes looked behind those crooked eyeglasses. Always been this way, Luna has. Observant, her father described her.

"I think yah can handle it now. Luna," Hagrid turned to her and jerked his head to Harry's direction. "Help him out, 'kay?"

"Okay," The girl called Luna spoke, and Harry heard a voice as soft as whisper escape her lips.

A lady customer who wore a gray trench coat and black heels approached the counter, and Luna signaled him to entertain the woman. Harry could only hope he'd do well at this.

As the door opened came the sound of tinkling wind chime, and Harry looked up to see who it was. The lady just left with a regular sized cappuccino, and Harry was expecting another customer and make their order. Luna was making the beverages while he operated the cash register.

A tall man of about five feet nine inches entered, and the first thing Harry noticed was his sleek blond hair and cold gray eyes. He had haughty good looks and sophisticatedly dressed in black long sleeves and trousers. Harry's face filled with shock. It was Draco Malfoy who just walked in, and Harry had no intentions of treating him kindly only if that arrogant git started a fight.

He was coming close, Harry said to himself, dropping his gaze to the boy whom he felt nothing but hatred. He was sure Draco Malfoy felt just the same as evidenced by his relentless teasing since fifth grade. He wondered why Malfoy hated him so much, but no matter how much he racked his brain to come up with an acceptable conclusion nothing came out. If there was someone he disliked more than Dudley, it was this miserable, stupid bastard who just walked in.

Draco's eyes flicked to the direction of the boy standing at the counter, and his heart skipped a beat. He recognized the familiar chaotic jet-black hair and crooked glasses and the slender figure that stood a meter away from him, and realized how unfitting he belonged to the scene that moment. Or rather Potter. Either way, it was wrong for the two of them to meet _here_ , of all places. As soon as Draco acknowledge that fact, he wanted to spin around and step out of this bloody place. But a question remained in his head: Why, of all people, was Potter here?

Their eyes met for a second. That brief moment was enough to send his heart racing, and after all these years of non-stop effort to deny the truth that always presented itself, why was it hard to quit obsessing about Harry Potter?

His parents always told him that someday, he was to produce a male heir for the Malfoy family. In order to do that he had to wed a woman from a respectable family, and pass on to his future children the traditions of the family. But at the young age of eleven he knew his fate might deviate a little from the ordinary male Malfoy. Lucius Malfoy was a cold, unforgiving man, and sometimes he looked as if he felt nothing towards his only child that was Draco. Sometimes he remembered how _it_ felt against his skin, the whip Lucius used to punish Draco for crying at school. He could still remember that day when he tried not to weep for being hit, but his father's screams remained too loud inside his head.

A surge of irritation boiled down Draco's veins as soon as he realized he was taking a trip down memory lane. Right now wasn't the time for that, and he had work to do for goodness' sake. First day in a café and he was going to tear up like a baby. For quite some time now he had come to terms with himself. He liked men, end of story. But _this,_ this was a different story. We were talking about Potter here, and fuck, he was good looking. In an effort to stay calm and collected, Draco put on a smug face Potter himself had familiarized with over the years. This was how he masked his true feelings; he had to be the arsehole Harry Potter had known for seven years.

"Of all people," Draco began. His stomach twisted in a knot after spewing out three words, _three fucking words,_ and he didn't know how to finish a sentence. Harry looked up to him and right then and there he saw that kissable frown lingering on Potter's face. "Of all people," Draco repeated, "it just has to be you, Potter."

Harry's eyebrows furrowed. Now Draco was getting on Harry's nerves, and he couldn't be more than proud that he was able to make him feel infuriated. Draco recognized Potter's anger when he witnessed his hands curl up to a fist.

Provoked, Harry wanted to beat the shit out of Malfoy once and for all, but today he must calm down. He was at work and he couldn't afford losing his job on the first day. Now that would humiliating.

"Ever care to change clothes? You've been wearing that for a week now." Draco jeered at him. Honestly, he hadn't seen Harry this week at school change that damn ugly shirt. Every day for seven years he went to school in those baggy clothes that didn't fit him. Now Draco wondered if this week Harry ever went home at all, if he ran away just like he did. He knew Harry was an orphan, and the poor boy lived with his uncle and aunt.

"Fuck off, Malfoy." Harry snapped. "Stop ogling me and stare at the menu instead so I can take your order."

Draco lips curled. "Where is the manager?"

"Why on earth are you looking for the manager?" Harry scowled at him. Malfoy must be so full of himself to make an order to the manager, not to him. This pissed Harry even more.

"I said, 'where is the manager?' Are you deaf or just plain stupid?"

That's it. Harry lost his temper. He grabbed Draco's shirt by the collar and spoke to him with gritted teeth. "If you're asking for a fight, Malfoy, let's do it outside."

"Blimey, 'Arry! Drop him!"

Hagrid came rushing to the scene and held Harry down. "Everyone's lookin'!"

Harry wretched his eyes from Draco to the people inside the café. He was starting to feel embarrassed for his indecent behavior. "Sorry. That won't happen again." Harry's eyes dropped to the floor.

"That bettah be true 'cause Darren here is goin' to—"

"Draco," Malfoy corrected him. He hated it when people called him 'Darren' or 'David' because who the fuck forgets a five-letter name? He was aware his name's uncommon but fuck, wasn't it supposed to be easy to remember because it was unusual?

"Draco, 'right. Draco here is goin' to work as a barista too, so ya'll better get a long or ya both get sacked." Hagrid finished with a sigh.

" _What?"_ Harry said sharply. No, no, no. There must be some mistake. Why the hell would a rich kid want to work at café? He didn't need to. He's got loads of money to spend. Why on earth would Draco sodding Malfoy would want to work his ass off?

"Here's ya apron, son." Hagrid tossed Malfoy a mass of green cloth which Malfoy caught mid-air. He smirked at Harry and proceeded to the work station behind him with Luna. He tied the back of the apron in a knot and washed a few dishes while Harry stood there with his mouth agape.

How come he just showed up here like he owned the place? No, scratch that. How did Draco Malfoy manage to walk in and wash dishes as if it's…normal? In a café? Today? How come he didn't need orientation when forty minutes ago he was in one?

Luna walked up to Harry. "He was about to work yesterday but there's an emergency, or so he said, and Hagrid decided to let Draco start today. You must be wondering why he just did that. Wash the dishes I mean."

Harry glanced at Luna and blinked. How she read his mind he had no idea, but Luna's striking him as a weird kind of person. The good kind of weird.

Luna nudged him on the side when a customer drew near the counter. So Malfoy was here yesterday? But still that didn't explain _why_ he worked here.

"Tch," Harry frowned as soon as the customer walked away.

 _Ron and Hermione are going to hear about this tomorrow_ , Harry thought.


	2. Chapter 2

Coming home from a four-hour shift was never tiring, but today was the first time in two and a half weeks Draco felt seriously worn out.

Draco was on his way to his flat. He was supposed to take home dinner, but decided against it. He would rather sleep than eat.

He unlocked the door, twisting the knob, and saw that his room was messier than usual. Instead of picking up the clutter on the floor which primarily consisted of food wrappers and empty soda cans and crumpled papers, he crashed to the bed. He buried his face on his pillow and noticed the cold. He liked how it felt on his skin. The weather today wasn't hot and not too cold either, and Draco wondered if the days were usually like this; he didn't pay attention to his surroundings lately.

Having this part –time job was extremely beneficial; not only he received salary in a regular basis, he also had the opportunity to take his mind off of things. It's almost a month since he last spoke to his father, and Draco was in no hurry to settle matters with his parents. From time to time his mother, Narcissa, called, and she would ask about how he was doing all by himself.

He replayed the previous chat they had inside his head. The last time she called he just arrived to work, and asked Neville, another weird coworker working at the café (he found Luna a bit strange too), to take over the counter while he excused himself to pick up his ringing cellphone inside his pocket.

He first few seconds of the call was consisted of the usual greetings. Narcissa asked him how he was doing, and assured her he's doing fine and finally had a part-time job to cover some his expenses.

It was a pleasant surprise for Narcissa. Draco never worked for a single penny. He needed not to. But ever since he left the Manor independence from his parents was required to survive. Lucius froze Draco's account, blocked his ATM and credit cards in retaliation to his son's rebellion. Narcissa tried to stop Lucius from being such a merciless father to their child, but he did not listen.

"When are you coming back? Surely you miss home?" Draco recalled the voice of his mother filled with worry over the phone.

"I don't have plans to."

"Draco," Narcissa sighed. "Your father didn't mean to—"

He knew where this conversation was going. It irked him when his mother defended his father's actions. Draco used to patronize his dad when he was younger, looking up to him and thinking that his views and opinions of the world were always right. And then _it_ happened, and Draco wasn't so sure him anymore.

"Didn't mean to beat the hell out of me, yeah? Well tell him this; if he thinks I'm shaming the family for being like _this…"_ Draco momentarily closed his eyes. _"…for being who I am,_ then he doesn't have a son anymore. I'm tired of hearing all the crap he's given me ever since I was a child, and I don't think anyone deserves being treated the way he's treating me right now."

He was tempted to say more, but Draco knew better. He did not like making his mother upset and even when he did not say it all the time he loved her deeply.

After a few seconds' pause, Draco could hear his mother's voice on the line again.

"Draco, I…" There was another sigh. He knew she would ask him once more to come back home, but no matter how many times she did Draco did not oblige. "At least come back for me?"

"I can't. I'm sorry, mum." And he really was.

The conversation ended with another tear rolling down Narcissa's cheeks, or so Draco imagined. Just as he was to drop the call he heard a sniff from the other end of the line.

And then Draco's mind went back to the day he ran away from home. The instant he stepped out of the house that day, it occurred to him how difficult it was to survive the life outside. He had no money—he left his wallet lying on top of a bedside table at the foot of a lampshade; his bag containing school stuff was sitting on his king-sized bed, and lastly his clothes were all neatly kept in his closet with no chances of getting and bringing all of them with him. He had summed up the courage to talk back to his father, yes, and in the spur of the moment Lucius Malfoy hit him straight in the face. Draco stormed out of the scene with a finger on his nose in a lame attempt to stop the blood from flowing, but despite what just happened inside the house the pain he felt on his face paled in comparison to what he was enduring all these years. Somehow the punch was aggravating and eerily liberating. Draco didn't know what to believe.

Every time he laid down to bed the memory kept replaying itself over and over again. He read somewhere that when people remember things, the mind shows a version of the memory the last time you envisioned it. It was partly reassuring because that meant the memory would soon fade over time. But since it unfortunately happened less than a month ago, the memory was nowhere near the process of vanishing. He groaned at the thought.

Draco rolled to his side. He discovered he was still wearing his shoes so he toed them off until they fell on the floor with a soft thud. He also didn't bother removing his socks.

Today was interesting though. Apart from receiving the news that he passed one of his college entrance exams, one that should have made him wholly jubilant, Draco was astonished to learn that Harry Potter was actually a nice person by inviting him to dinner for the first time.

He swore he left his mouth hanging when Harry Potter did just that.

But Draco politely declined his offer. He said he was off to some place with his friends, which of course was a big, fat lie. Draco started avoiding Crabbe and Goyle, in fear that his father would soon contact them to know his whereabouts.

Aside from the usual bickering, Draco tried to remain civil with his childhood nemesis for the past few weeks. It was an accomplishment worth celebrating for. Never in their lives had they maintained peaceful encounters with each other such as that, not to mention the petty quarrel they exchanged in the first few minutes of Draco's arrival in the place during the first day.

The following days after the first Draco felt awkward to interact with Harry without all the teasing. What others treated as normal banters did not exist between him and the boy with the lightning shaped scar. Silence was the best way to combat his urge to insult Harry, and using quiet as a means to retain tranquility in the atmosphere was undeniably effective.

But if Potter asked him again soon, maybe he'd say yes.

The Draco drifted off to a calm, dreamless sleep.

The following day caught Draco in a foul mood. Not only did he miss first period, but he slept for good fourteen hours undisturbed. Not that he cared so much about grades—actually he rarely cared about anything anymore—it's just that things weren't how he liked them be. It's too late to come to school now, so Draco didn't bother getting up from bed until it was one in the afternoon.

It occurred to him that more or less it would soon be twenty four hours since he last ate. He scrambled his way to the fridge and opened it, only to see a half-empty carton of milk displayed before his eyes. Draco wasn't certain if his situation was laughable or pitiful, but a small smile crept on his lips when he reached for the drink and downed it in three gulps. Never mind getting a glass; he drank it straight from the lid. No one was watching, no one to say 'mind your manners.' And for fuck's sake he's eighteen years old, he could do whatever he pleased. Did he run away from home only to drink milk from a carton without someone scolding him for doing so?

He had two hours before his shift started, so he reckoned doing a bit of cleaning would help pass time. Draco wasn't an unorganized individual, in fact he maintained a clean room back in the Manor. Discipline was one of Lucius Malfoy's teachings, and it was implemented to Draco at such a young age. Draco couldn't stand a messy room, so last night truthfully was a miracle.He was a clean-freak, Draco admitted to himself. He was too obsessed with cleaning that he thought of it as a means of taking control. He loathed being out of it.

It took him half an hour to put his stuff in its proper places. Looking back, it was not necessary for Draco to clean up his own room for they had servants in the house. It was in middle school that he realized not having servants was something normal for a British family in the 21st century. That was when it started sinking in that he was ridiculously rich, and people envied him for that. He was a snotty git growing up, and now he blamed his father for instilling narrow-minded notions in him when he was a child.

He showered, dressed up, and came in for work afterwards. He promised himself to buy lunch before dropping by the café, and his food should be a decent one. He couldn't remember when he last ate anything with nutritional value.

The three of them now stood outside the shop—Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Hermione insisted that Harry show them the place, but Harry told her she only wanted to see the café because she was so intrigued with Malfoy being here. Hermione said that it was also part of the reason why, but _really_ it was Ron who suggested the idea first.

"Make sure you buy something," Harry jokingly said to his two best friends upon entering the shop.

"It's her treat," Ron said, jerking his head to Hermione's direction. Hermione rolled her eyes. "I lost the bet, fine. But you should pay attention to everything I'm going to teach you today."

Harry suddenly remembered when Ron showed his palm to Hermione this morning, saying, "Pay up." They were betting on who's going to talk to whom first.

"You're blocking the way."

All of them turned around at once. Standing behind them was Malfoy in his usual dark long-sleeved shirt. He wore a cap today, Harry noticed. He saw on his periphery that his two best friends exchanged looks, but his eyes remained transfixed to Malfoy.

"Malfoy," Harry muttered.

"Excuse me," Draco said coldly as he walked past them, clutching a brown paper bag on his left hand. Their eyes pinned on Malfoy's back.

"That bloke really is working here," Ron said at last.

Hermione shot a suspicious glance at Harry. "You haven't been fighting with him lately, have you?" Her eyes squinted at him.

"No, I haven't." Harry said defensively.

"Don't you find this strange? Maybe he's following you." She suggested.

Harry let out an exasperated sigh. "No, he isn't. Why would he do that?"

"It doesn't make sense that he's working his bloody arse off on weekday afternoons." Ron paused. "You think the Malfoys are going bankrupt of somethin'?" Said Ron, shrugging. It was a silly idea, but Harry took it considerately.

"Plus, he's acting strange. He is _not_ picking fights and insulting you anymore." Ron looked from Harry to Hermione, then back to Harry again. His smile became a huge grin. "I think he fancies you."

Harry's face turned sour. "What the fuck?"

"Ron!" Hermione hit his arm. She motioned for them to come inside the café, and led the way to their table. "Let's just stay out of his business." She said as she watched Malfoy come out from a door with a sign that said, 'Employees Only.'

"Last night I talked to him." Harry admitted.

"You did?" Ron asked, sitting down. Hermione followed suit. She began to pull out books from her bag, and nudged Ron to do the same.

"Yeah, I asked him to dinner."

" _What?"_ Ron and Hermione said in unison.

"Look, let's talk about this next time. It's almost three." Harry looked at the clock hanging on the yellow-painted wall. "I should go."

Harry left the pair to themselves. When he arrived at the counter, he smiled at Luna and Neville who were busying themselves making drinks. Harry caught Ron's eye and raised his eyebrows at him.

Ron smirked.

"Harry, can you bring this to the couple over there?" Neville asked politely.

"Yeah, sure." Harry carried the tray that contained a plate of spaghetti aglio e olio, a ham and cheese Panini, and two cups of black coffee. He reached the couple's table and a woman around her early sixties smiled at him for bringing their food. The man sitting across her flipped a page from the book he was reading, but put it down when he saw that food had already arrived. He took of his half-moon spectacles and looked up to Harry. "Can I request for a glass of water?"

Harry nodded. "Okay. Anything else?"

The woman shook her head. "Thank you, dear."

Harry went back to get a glass of water when he saw Malfoy with his arms folded, standing in front of the stove. He muttered something that Harry didn't catch, so the latter decided to ask him if anything was wrong.

"Do you need help?"

Malfoy looked at him, his eyes widening. "Uh…"

"Wait a sec," Harry left with a glass in his hand. Now Draco was feeling a little embarrassed, his cheeks burning when Harry came back.

"Cook this for me," Draco said in a not-so-friendly way that sounded almost like he was ordering Harry to do it for him. Scratch that. He literally told Harry to cook for him.

"What? Why do you…" Harry's voice trailed off. And then an idea popped up on his head, and he stared at Malfoy in disbelief. "You…you don't know how to cook, do you?"

Draco went quiet, looking him in the eye longer as he was supposed to. "Fuck," He scratched his head, his blond hair getting messier while he continued stroking his hair. "No, I do not."

Harry tried not to laugh, but the seriousness in Malfoy's face was hilarious. "Are you for real?"

"I'll learn how to cook." Harry could see how Malfoy was trying to hide his embarrassment. "But for now do it for me." Malfoy said.

Harry smirked. He could think of a dozen things to say to Malfoy as a come-back, but Harry stopped himself before he did. "Okay, I'll do it. But first say the magic word."

Malfoy's eyebrows furrowed. "What?"

"It starts with a 'p' and ends with an 'e.'"

Malfoy made a mental note to kick Harry's arse when he finds the chance. "Please?"

"Alright then," Harry was now smiling from ear to ear. "Now what should I cook?"

Making fun of Malfoy never felt so good.

Now that Harry had discovered that Malfoy was not cut out to be a cook, he made a promise to himself to teach Malfoy just so he could show him that he was better in some things.

No, seriously. He wanted to teach him because Malfoy might get sacked when Hagrid finds out.

And there was one more reason why he wanted to spend time with his childhood enemy—Harry wanted to clarify something.

For some reason, he felt that Malfoy was…

Never mind.

Surely Malfoy wasn't? But no matter how many times Harry tried to forget the idea, it kept bugging him. He hadn't mentioned this to either Ron or Hermione because he thought doing so was inappropriate.

Not that he cared about Malfoy or anything, but Harry could not simply ignore the signs.

Two and a half weeks sharing a shift with Malfoy, Harry was able to notice a few things: 1) Draco always wore long sleeves, and not just that, his clothes had to be in dark tones too; 2) staring into the distance, always drifting off to somewhere; 3) he had never seen Draco eat before, meaning he maybe wasn't eating right or not at all.

Harry pondered for a moment before executing the plan in his head. He invited Malfoy to dinner yesterday, but the guy refused. Maybe if he did again, Malfoy would again say no.

 _Why am I pushing myself on him if he clearly did not want my friendship?_

No, Harry did not want to be friends. He simply wanted to be nice.

 _What was so wrong with being friends with Malfoy?_ Harry asked himself. It was so odd to hear the word 'friendship' and 'Malfoy' in the same sentence that he cringed. But then again, there was nothing wrong with trying.

And it could be an opportunity to learn more about Malfoy—again, not that he cared or anything.

The idea wasn't so bad, Harry reassured himself. After all he was just going to ask him to dinner as a friendly gesture. They had been coworkers for weeks now. They should enjoy each other's company at the least.


End file.
